


My Name's Not Joel

by theZanyArthropleura



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol use/consumption, Castillo (Overwatch), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, depressing headcanons for joke voice lines, the bar scene, yes another one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 14:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theZanyArthropleura/pseuds/theZanyArthropleura
Summary: Sombra finds McCree at Calaveras, tells a (heavily edited) version of how she ended up there, and discovers a startling secret - despite this being theonetime she specificallywasn'tlooking to find one.





	My Name's Not Joel

Sombra set her empty glass down on the wooden bar counter behind her as she leant against it, staring in boredom at the far wall. There were a few things she wanted to check up on, but that would mean going through the effort of putting on her long gloves and getting them all lined up in her sleeves again, which was always a hassle once she’d taken them off. So instead, she crossed her bare arms and glanced up at the patterned cloth hung on the wall to her left. It was a rather pathetic way to spend the holiday, she thought.

Not that the past 29 years had been any better.

She took a brief glance around the bar at her company, wondering who else’s sad, lonely lives had landed them _here_ on tonight of all nights. It was a mostly empty room except for the bartender, a few patrons passed out on tables, and…

Sombra did a double-take at the red serape and brown cowboy hat draped across the bar, just past the corner. No one would be caught dead dressed like that, except…

“Jesse McCree?” she asked aloud in disbelief, more to herself than anything.

“Huh… what?” McCree mumbled as he sat up, taking note of the bottle and glass in front of him before looking around to see who had spoken. “How’d you know my name?”

Sombra was rather dumbfounded that he’d even _heard_ her from the end of the bar, let alone in his drunken state. “You… told me before,” she said quickly, thinking on her feet.

“Oh,” McCree slurred, looking at her oddly, “I don’t… remember.”

Sombra watched in fascination as he went right back to work on his half-finished drink. It was strange to actually _meet_ someone she only knew from reading through stolen files. She’d have to be more careful about what she knew about him. Though… given his current predicament, it didn’t seem like it would be much of a problem even if she _did_ say too much.

She considered the cowboy for a while longer. Gabe still never talked about him in front of the team, but what she’d read on her own time was pretty extensive. His early recruitment into the Deadlock Gang, the deal that had put him in Blackwatch, his current stint as a gun-for-hire… but she also knew quite a lot about who he was as a person, how he somehow managed to be the overzealous hothead and the weary old-timer all at once.

 _He could be useful_ , Sombra reasoned. He _was_ former Blackwatch, after all, and would’ve at least heard about the recall. But beyond that, some digging had revealed his hand in at least a few projects even Gabe was never directly involved in. If she could get him talking, she could get some good intel out of him, if not recruit him into Talon wholesale.

Of course, Sombra didn’t intend to do either of those things. Not tonight.

But it was a good enough excuse, wasn’t it? A justifiable rationale, one that wouldn’t be suspicious in the least. She would be _expected_ to take this opportunity, wouldn’t she? It would be _more_ suspicious if she let him be, when she had a chance like this. And even worse case… he was a criminal. One with a long history of mistakes, regrets he took to heart and would take with him to his grave. It would still hurt, of course, but… maybe not as much, and that was really the best Sombra could hope for.

At that thought, the flickering white of rings, dots, and lines – already tracing themselves across the red glow burned into the back of Sombra’s mind – began to fade again.

Sombra stood up, walking purposefully along the front of the bar and taking a seat just around the corner from McCree. “Rough night, or rough life?” she asked with a smirk.

“Little o’ both,” McCree mumbled, without looking, as he finished his drink. He set down the glass and held two fingers up to the bartender. “Two glasses,” he drawled.

“I’m flattered, Cowboy, but I really don’t—”

“Not for you,” said McCree, cutting her off.

After the bartender had poured the drinks, McCree set both in front of him, taking a sip out of one, then the other, then repeated the process until they were both half-empty.

“How ‘bout you, darlin’” he asked after a time, “someone like you ain’t got nowhere better to be?”

Sombra set an elbow across the table. “Nowhere I’m really _wanted_ right about now.”

“Bad break?” McCree said as if he’d heard the same story a hundred times.

“Not exactly.” Sombra made a broad grin to keep her face from falling as she rested her head against her hand and stared vaguely upward. “So, I have this friend,” she began. “Real workaholic. I may have… fudged some numbers, so it looked like she had a field assignment today. Get her some time away from the office, you know?”

“Take it that didn’t go over so well?” McCree asked with barely detectable interest.

“Like you wouldn’t _believe_ ,” Sombra said with an exasperated sigh. “But… I knew there was something she wanted to do today, even if she would never admit it.”

“Folks don’t normally take kindly to messin’ about in their business,” McCree paused to take a long drink, “no matter _how_ you meant it.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sombra said with a facetious smile. She let out a tiny laugh as her stomach churned. “I even made her miss her performance review. She _hates_ when that happens. But she’s just… always so _strung-up_ when she gets out of them. Hurts to see her like that.”

McCree seemed to notice the slight falter in Sombra’s casual tone, but gave nothing more than a knowing nod.

“So what about you, cowboy?” Sombra asked, leaning her head almost to the horizontal to look at him. “You never said.”

McCree took a long drink from his other glass. “Got reasons plenty, sure enough, but tonight? Guess you could say… tonight always brings me back to the beginning.” He pointedly set the glass on the table, but didn’t pull away his hand. “You ever… carry somebody with you so long, it feels like you can’t tell who’s who anymore?”

“Can’t say I have…” Sombra said, looking at him oddly for a moment before her face fell into a resigned smirk. “Just a lot of people I feel like I know really well, even though I’ve never met them.”

McCree laughed bleakly at that.

Sombra narrowed her eyes. “Something funny, cowboy?”

“Life,” he said simply, after some consideration. “Life’s funny.”

“When you dress like _that_ , it is,” Sombra snarked.

McCree shook slightly as he finished off both of his glasses, then let out another quiet bout of laughter, shaking his head. Gradually, his laughter grew more fierce, and he quickly set his right arm across the counter to catch his head as it fell.

“…and when you _drink_ like that, it seems,” Sombra added with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s hiiiiiiiiiigh noon,” McCree said comically as he rolled over on the counter. He made a finger-gun with his cybernetic hand and raised it skyward. 

Sombra rolled her eyes. “I… think you’ve had enough.”

McCree sat up, shakily. “I’ll be alrigh,” he slurred, “juss need some fresh air, s’all.”

The cowboy rose from the barstool, holding his arms outward as he leaned and stumbled in place, each near-fall getting worse and worse. Sombra sighed with a smile as she stood up and threw her left arm around his shoulders, walking him out to the door.

As they both sat down on the stone steps in the near-darkness of the alley, Sombra seized the moment to squeeze more tightly, quickly bringing her other arm around to meet the first as she leaned her head snugly into McCree’s shoulder. She savored the brief contact as if it might need to hold her over for months, if not years.

“I, uh… appreciate the offer, darlin,’ but—” McCree began in surprise.

“It’s not like that,” Sombra interrupted, holding on for only a few more seconds before pulling away suddenly, crossing her arms as if it had never happened.

McCree looked at her oddly. “Are you… _alright?_ ”

Sombra rolled her eyes, shooting him a condescending glare. “Is _anyone?_ ”

“Hmph. Touché,” said McCree as he looked away, his gaze falling across the alley and through the stone archway to the central courtyard alight with festivities. “You… don’t got anybody, do you?” he said quietly after a time. “I can always tell.”

“No,” Sombra said simply, bitterly, as she closed both of her eyes only to find a third waiting in the darkness. “Can’t afford to.”

“Maybe it’s best that way,” McCree said with a sigh. He was still looking toward the celebration, and Sombra followed his gaze, taking in the lights, the decorations, the somewhat distant music playing, and the people rushing by with boxes and bags from last-minute gift-shopping sprees (legal or otherwise). McCree laughed a single, bleak laugh, lightly shaking his head. “He always did love this time o’ year.”

Sombra looked at him with narrowed, searching eyes, piecing something together. “Who was the other drink for?”

The cowboy was silent for a long, pained moment, taking several deep breaths and a heavy sigh. He was completely still, his lips barely moving at all, when he finally spoke.

“Jesse McCree.”


End file.
